ment in both its missionary and its pioneering aspects is best understood when viewed as outbursts of missionary zeal and energy and pioneer daring and restlessness from vast stores of potential missionary and pioneer spirit existing in this country in the thirties. Missionary activity in the direction of Oregon was liberated by something like a spark, or, to change the metaphor, by a "long-distance' "Macedonian cry.' A delegation of four Nez Perces Indians from the upper waters of the Columbia arrived in St. Louis in 1832 in search of "the white man's Book of Heaven.' An account of this singularly unique mission was published in the newspapers of the time. The story was made all the more effective and thrilling, with those of deep religious sensibilities, through its including what purported to be a verbatim report of a most pathetic farewell address made in General Clark's office by one of the two surviving members of this mission.
The closing passage of the speech, as it has been handed down, is as follows:
"We are going back the long, sad trail to our people. When we tell them, after one more snow, in the big council that we did not bring the Book, no word will be spoken by our old men, nor by our young braves. One by one they will rise up and go out in silence. Our people will die in darkness, and they will go on the long path to other hunting grounds. No white man will go with them, and no Book of Heaven to make the way plain. We have no more words."
The missionary boards of several protestant denominations were already establishing foreign missions in Africa, India, and among the western North American Indians. Hall J. Kelley had been agitating the cause of the Oregon Indians for half-a-generation . An appeal for missionary help so pathetic, so unheard of, and withal
